


Once At 11pm, At Night

by Kat_jaku



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: AUs, Drabbles, F/F, Fluff, Kinky, M/M, Multi, Omegaverse, Pokemon - Freeform, Smut too, VAMPIRES FOR ALL, monsters i bet, more like klinky, pizza boy AU, that one breakfast cliche
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 08:39:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11574459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_jaku/pseuds/Kat_jaku
Summary: One-shots of the boys, their counterparts, and everyone they know.Requests open, as always.  ○ don't be afraid to comment if you feel like I portrayed something wrong!!○Updates weekly/biweekly if i can manage it





	1. House Centipedes

Shadows flickered along the wall, never in the same place for more than three seconds. Tom yawned and haphazardly chucked the blankets aside and left his bed exposed. Some religious scam program must've weaved itself onto AMC, for "300" was playing before gravity pulled his eyelids down and glued them shut with a feathery touch. 

"What do you feel when you're reminded that Jesus died to give us forgiveness?" the priest stood up and gestured to a young audience member.

"Nothing." Even though he wasn't on the program, Tom still felt obliged to answer the ridiculous question.

Looking outside, darkness limited his vision of the road and surrounding shrubs; the birds remained silent, happily cheating on their significant other, like the wretched fairy wren. He'd've learned that in class, but he was sick with the flu, and had to research the birds all by himself. Tom got bored of hearing the old man talk, and left his room to use the bathroom. The floor creaked beneath him just as if it was a worn, rusty, horror-esque door. Turning on the light briefly blinded Tom, but the creme walls came into focus, enough so that the boy limbered to the mirror and stared blankly at his reflection. Sometimes, he wished he would've been born a vampire, so he wouldn't have to acknowledge his presence at any given point in time. His chapped lips spoke louder-and more aggressively- than his mouth did, and his crooked nose jutted out in place of his flat lips. God, was his facade abhorrent and flawed.

"Maybe I should take a shower," he didn't care if no one heard him, or even if eavesdropping wiretappers knew what he was up to now, but what he did care about was the hundred-legged being crawling on the side of the tub.  
"Ahaha, at least I don't look like that thing." Tom drew near the bug and concentrated as if he was about to perform a lobotomy with an ice pick on the poor thing.  
"Nevermind, look at your stripes... Humph, your legs are mesmerizing. I wonder if the shower deluged your home? Wait, nah, you're one of those /city slickers/. Pffft, so am I..." Gravity hit Tom a little too hard.  
"Fuck, I'm talking to a house centipede. I wonder if they bite?" He picked it up and stroked it gently, and not in the Salad Fingers kind of "gently". Sure enough, the tiny fellow chomped down and might've sent it's venom down Tom's finger, but it wasn't bad enough to kill a human.  
"Damn, well, see you soon." It crawled off his hand and onto the tiled floor below, taking refuge from the ,ongoing and never-ending, war against the humans, in their own cabinet.


	2. Lilacs and Booze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a drunk fool and an even bigger fool who tries to help
> 
> why is the croagunk note still there

"Another one, please."  
"Hm."  
If the first speaker had eyes, they would clearly follow the glass as the bartender stoically poured in whatever concoction the drunken boy had thought of. He picked it up as soon as it hit the polished wood, and he threw it down with a tinge of anger. Before the chance of roofies became an increasing danger, Tom internally established the motive he knew he would regret more than getting roofied. 

Inimically, Tom sat on the bed and wrapped his arms around his midsection in a hazy state. Blurred. Heat rushing to his face with enough velocity to penetrate through the wall. Panic. His ears ceased to pick up sound, and instead, only intensified the hoarse cracking of his vocals. Hot breath on his neck, hotter than the sun that fell out of the night's portrait. 

 

Tom imagined Tord's words as fireworks, yet he'd've been struck down with the impact if he'd done so. Honestly, if he put himself up to home plate and took a wild swing at what Tord was whispering in his ear, he'd be able to recall it verbatim. Tom assumed it was along the lines of, "You know Edd'll be pissed if he knew you gorged yourself on alcohol again." The Norsk had good intentions, but he never understood that Tom only cried when he got drunk as a natural reaction. 

 

Warmth better than a hot shower in the middle of winter seeped into Tom's bones and cheaply scented candles danced in his mind every second his quivering diaphragm forced him to imprison the oxygen around. Tord's sweatshirt smelled like lilac, as it often does on nights like these. Nights where Tom cries out of habit, and where Tord runs his fingers through Tom's tangle of a nest on a broken tree stump. Nights where Tord can't take the ugly sobbing and creates a pulsing silence between the two. Nights where they've cuddled, bonded, and interlaced lilac and booze to create a new soothing comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bless, this was the one that didnt save over 500 words. rip me


	3. Neighbors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little more intense story

The sun fought for space in the sky, but after a few minutes, the night cascaded over the villigent light. Tom opened the small window of his room to reveal the old, boring wood fence that gaurded his yard from intruders or animals. He couldnt remember which one it was, exactly. His tongue ran across the brackets attached to his aching teeth; he had gotten them tightened the day before, so the pain he felt was expected.

The landscape laid out before him brought back a feeling of excitement, tranquility, euphoria, and loneliness. Frozen breath jutted in front of his face. 

Why didn't I just ask then? 

July... Fourth of July to be exact.

Even the brightest fireworks couldn't compete with the trees in our yard. I decided to climb up on the fence, and I didn't realize how strong the wind was. 

I fell, and I started to cry once my knees burned and I could feel the pebbles and rocks digging into my flesh like a monster. Who keeps a small koifish pond right next to a fence? Reluctantly, my head snapped up and sea foam green eyes pierced mine. His sunkissed, freckled cheeks looked more sunburnt in the odd lighting and from the reflected light of the water 'twixt us. 

"Hey, I'm Matt... Are you my neighbor? "  
"Uh, I think so?   
"Oh. You're bleeding. How about you come inside? " His smile was perfect in comparison to the five grand worth of orthodontia I was packing.

Inside, his house was just like mine, but it had more of a family dynamic I suppose. His mother and father smiled like he did, and their eyes resonated images of hidden, ethereal coves covered in moss enabling the inhabitants to thrive within its waters. 

"You know, you could've asked if you wanted to watch the fireworks with us! But, I understand why you didn't, haha." Matt brought a first-aid kit and cleaned the wounds on my knees; even though he had to pick the pebbles out from under my skin, he was gentle about it. Matt's parents were telling us about the foolish quarrels they created with their neighbors from their high school days. 

There was a scratch on my mid-thigh that was seeping with anger; it flamed and puffed with an intense fire around the edges. Matt ran his nimble fingers over it, and his breath hitched, somewhere between pain, or a cringey ache. 

"You can wrap it. It doesn't hurt that badly." With that, Matt covered the bloodied trench presenting itself proudly on my leg. 

"Thanks, I appreciate it, Matt." His parents ushered us outside to sit in a few pastel themed lawn chairs to watch the loud, chemical mini-bombs exploding in the night. 

"We should hang out sometime, Tom. I think it'd be fun!"

"Yeah, me, too."

 

Siberian beasts nipped at his face and fingers. He chipped away at the black polish on accident by biting his nails to the bleeding point. When all of the white vanished, he picked at his lips, imitating how Matt had done it less than three months ago. They were home-ridden by the snow, but once the seasons changed, they'd sit in each others backyards and watch the passing planets. They'd watch more than the planets pass, however. Both anxious to feel the stinging pleasure, to be rough on soft lips, to be anything but infinitive. 

 

His eyes were swollen, tinted red, almost like a vampire from any number of horror movies. His chest huffed sporadically within its own confines of a purple hoodie. Despite the sad vibes Matt was broadcasting, I went over to him and flashed my almost perfect teeth. 

"Oh, I see you got your braces off! You look like you're excited about something, too." Matt lightened up a bit, but that didn't throw me off the boat of concern.

"Well, yeah... I do have a surprise, I suppose."

 

I've wanted to do this ever since the first time I looked up at the face that could put a semi-realistic artist's portraits to shame. 

 

No. Forget about that. It was all fake. You are nothing more but Basil Hallward to the modern Dorian Gray. A stupid, forgiving painter who can't even save himself in the end. Take the moral.

 

Forget about this.

 

Forget about him.

 

"Hmf." All he could manage to react with. No use saving those who wouldn't make the same effort. The wind whipped Tom's hair to the side. Blood dripped on the windowsill. 

 

Sitting alone, once more. I feel like pluto, the planet that nobody's sure about at this point. A drifting leaf caught my attention due to it's intense red flare. Did I really lose out on anything? He was beautiful... My beautiful neighbor. But. That was all. God, maybe I'm the shallow one. I hope someone is able to understand Matt because I sure can't. Haha, even the stars blink in agreement on this calm, autumn night. 

 

Snow collected on the jutting features of Tom's face, and instead of moving, or going back inside, he let it stay. He wished that Matt had stayed with him. Collected on him like the snow. Crystals added weight to his shoulders; it added to the weight he put on himself after he wrecked the kind of neighbor bond that one forms when associating with said neighbors. Hours went by, waiting. Slowly, but surely, the mental weight vanished for another feeling, and that vanished for physical weight. Cold. Maybe now, he could feel what Matt feels, but he'd never even begin to arrive close to that. That would be empathy. The one feeling that Matt never had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was so proud of this one, lol. I guess its like a narc matt au idk. idk half of what I write


	4. Radiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GORE WARNING: Zombies and everything that goes along with them

Gore. No more, no less. The bite on his right leg won't stop bleeding; the lights from arcade games illuminate the creatures he wishes he could escape from. A barrel of a gun flashes in several directions, but he can't hear the shots go off. Blazing, searing heat burns the flesh hot pink, and his callused hands jolt forwards to feel something, anything. 

"Paul, can you walk, and at the most," Patryk drops the shotgun and a pistol emerges from his left pocket, "run? "

The last word echos louder than the, nearly constant, gunshots. Demonspawn pollute the small arcade as the walls seemingly shrink at an exponential rate. Pauls eyes flutter between two points, and a montage of monsters scrambling closer as a walking bass sets the tempo floods and overstimulates his mind. Another kind of flood pours from the gnarly puncture.

Late. Unintelligible natter reverberates through the walls, but that doesn't phase the oncoming hoard; they focused in on the iron odor soaking Paul's clothes from behind Patryk. One shot became another, and another, and another, until the pull of the trigger released an empty click. 

"Shit, shit, shit. Hey, Pau-paul. " Hesitation. Patryk's chest expands and contracts at twice per second; he studies the room carefully, yet briefly. 

"If we can get through the hole in the wall over there, we can escape and I can... Amputate your leg." Venom.

Paul nods and his skin lightens a shade from either blood loss or the dreaded words that forced gravity down his dry, scratchy throat. 

"Fuck!"

Another crowd of tourists burst through the planned exit, and they squeal with lustrous greed. Patryk decrees that this shall be the final bite of the apple mentally. It's red, delicate, yet delicious, flesh being torn at bit by bit, strip by strip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bless, and also the last couple were from wattpad


End file.
